Rising Legends: Saga of the Thunderborn, Book One
by blackshadow111
Summary: Ancient prophecies spoke of his coming a thousand times over, and civilizations rose and fell by the power of his presence and might. Something ancient, great and terrible arises from deep within a young man's soul, a culmination of millenia of evolution and the scheming of a hundred gods. Lightning on brow and fire in heart, Harry Potter is the Thunderborn. Witness his coming.
1. Chapter 1

**So, here we are. The rewrite of 'The Chronicles' is something I've been working for a long time, ever since I decided that the old story had gotten too unwieldy and plain** _ **bad**_ **in several bits to be meaningfully cleaned up, and so instead of doing a full 'rebuild from scratch' thing I did the real one.**

 **With some luck this story will manage to retain all the fun bits of Chronicles and discard the bad bits, but who know? Nobody!**

 **So you guys are gonna have to tell me if it sucks or if it's great.**

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 **July 31, 1980**  
 **Potter Manor**  
 **Wales**

Lily Potter was twisting and turning, uncomfortable in her sleep. She was tired beyond all belief, having spent the whole day in ritual after gesture after spell, drinking potions and etching symbols in the countless preparations that had to be completed before the heir to one of the oldest and most exalted bloodlines in Britain, and indeed, in the world, deigned to grace the planet with his presence.

And yes, she knew it was a boy. Far from being anything as nebulous and speculative as a 'mother's intuition', it was a simple fact of magic that the Potter firstborns were always male, the result of age-old spells performed in a different time, when the blood was young and the security of inheritance a vital necessity.

Such were the thoughts on her mind, until, sometime hours after she had lain down, her mind finally drifted to the strange places that exist beyond all mortal and physical confines known to man, magical or mundane.

That night, the woman who could have been a queen dreamed, and in her dreams she envisaged worlds and wonders far beyond anything even her prodigious skill at magic could shape. Empires arose and fell, armies rising from squabbling masses and ending in oceans of blood, ancient voices whispering strange prophecies, and unseen hands casting magic foul and wondrous. She didn't know it, but her dreams that night covered the age of the world itself, descending from the oldest days of the first gods to gods of the modern age, and featuring in them the lords of the days gone by and the Lord that was yet to come.

But as unbelievable as the idea is, even dreams have limits, so it was entirely understandable that she couldn't grasp the truth of things in her fretful sleep.

Others were not so limited.

In realms that bordered reality, daemons and godlings salivated, greedily anticipating the power that was at hand. In physical places far from the wet isle, priests and priestesses consulted kings and emperors and shoguns in hushed voices, telling of the omens that had been observed.

And in a reality far away and long forgotten, an eye vaster than hundred galaxies blinked open for an infinitesimal moment.

It was time.

In her dream, Lily Potter suddenly saw the greatest dream of all, a clear, night sky, shining with stars, stars that told a tale of their own. There were runes in those stars, and faces and shapes, all hinting at various things, while together they told a long and intricate tale. Unfortunately, it was not for her, since as great as her mind was, it wasn't _quite_ great enough.

And in any case, her attention was soon focused on the star that seemed to be descending right at her. It was a strange thing, green where it should have been blazing white. As it descended, she could see it change. Now it was a thunderbolt. Now it was an elephant, and a moment later it was a Lion.

In the end, when the shape hurtled itself into her belly, all she could recall was the _power._

And then she woke up. Her contractions had begun.

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 **Years later**

Harry Potter was scared. It wasn't a very new feeling to him, having been a close friend since he could remember, first in the shape of the walking tub of lard, later in more horrific, esoteric forms. Right now his fear was due to the creatures that were slowly but steadily advancing towards him, him and the only family he had in the world.

Because his godfather, Sirius Black, was currently lying near his feet, catatonic and near-death, not to mention in very real fear of losing his soul itself. And there was _nothing_ Harry could do to save him. He tried again, speaking the words he had learned from Lupin. And again, the result was nothing more than a few wisps of silvery smoke that the dementors failed to even notice.

Again he tried, and yet again, absolutely nothing was to be had. It was all he could do to stay conscious in the face of the overwhelming, all-crushing _evil_ that was drawing towards him, and even that was a near-impossibility.

In a different world, something would have occurred here. Time would have been twisted and mutilated, and Harry, desperate yet able, would have saved Sirius Black.

In a different world

Here Harry had nothing, could _do_ nothing, as the dementor swooped down, and pressed its face to that of Sirius Black. And so was the fate of the world rewritten. As he watched his godfather, the man closer to him than any other, lose his soul, Harry Potter knew for the first time in his short life what true _despair_ was.

It crushed him. At every point before now, all through his bullied, neglected childhood, through the days of Harry-hunting and through cold nights spent crying into rough blankets, there had been a glimmer of hope, a light, however faint, at the end of the tunnel. Now, there was nothing. _He_ was nothing. Harry Potter felt his identity, everything that made him what he was, fall away from him, his psyche shattered and his soul laid bare for the dementor to plunder.

In the infinite worlds that exist within the nevernever, such experiences can be survived. People before Harry Potter had undergone similar experiences and came out all the stronger for them. There are not many such people, indeed, it is said that one in a million possess such powers, and one in a million of those ever manage to awaken it.

But those that do, nevertheless, are the stuff of legend.

And of course, so was Harry Potter.

It was _then_ that he felt it. As the dementors drew closer, as they laid waste to greater and greater parts of his mind, he felt something _snap_ within , followed by a scream of unearthly rage and pain. Through blinking eyes he saw something tiny, something black and _ugly_ , diseased and mutilated, flow out of his scar into the mouth of the dementor closest to him.

And as if that had been a signal of some sorts, he felt a veritable _cacophony_ in his mind, as locks and bindings, shackles and walls that had been a part of him since before he could remember just withered away and died. Even where he was, out in Scottish cold surrounded by literal soul sucking monsters, he _felt_ the glory of being _free_ for the first time in his life. It was greater than any feeling in his life, greater than catching the snitch, a million times greater than winning any school cup. It was as if he was reborn, revived and rejuvenated, all at the same time.

With freedom came the visions. Suddenly Harry was transported far away, standing in an ancient battlefield surrounded by the dead and the dying, spells raining around him. A blur, another vision, he was in a vast library, with shelves beyond the reach of the eye and more books than he could have imagined. Another blur, this time it was a bed, silk sheets, silk curtains and women around him engaged in acts that made him blush redder than his friend's hair.

The visions were put aside, though, as his world exploded.

Harry, if asked, would say that it was the moment his life changed forever. And who knows, he might be right. But in any case, that particular moment was when the carefully constructed lie that was Harry Potter, Gryffindor student and overall worthless loser, shattered into so many fragments, and something older and truer was unveiled in its place.

It rose from his soul, coursing through his blood like a million volts of electricity. The sensation was as painful as it was thrilling, as cobwebs and walls alike were swept aside in the flood of oncoming _power._

In a temple far away in the forests of South America, abandoned even by the local magicals because of the ancient spells upon it, candles burst into green flame.

South-west to his location in Carpathian caves, locks upon old mountain-fortresses suddenly flashed open, before resealing themselves.

These were just two examples out of dozens, as all over the world remnants of days gone by started to wake from their ancient sleep. However, those were very far ahead in the story, and didn't really matter very much. On the other hand, much, much closer, in the isles themselves, old mansions and castles were suddenly awash in magical power, as the bloodlines they were bound to acknowledged a new heir.

And the very closest, in a hall, no, a _chamber_ that no more than four people had ever stepped in, a portrait awoke from a long sleep.

Salazar Slytherin spoke "Now, isn't _that_ interesting."

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And that's it so far. Revamped, renewed and revived, this story shall yet endure!

So stay tuned folks!


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Explorations and Introductions, and resolutions

 **A.N: so, the second chapter of the rewrite. Not betaed, and I'm still afraid of talking to my old beta because of the absolutely shitty way I treated him. Meh, I'll talk to him eventually.**

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Harry, when he woke up, showed no signs of it at all. His breathing didn't quicken or slow, his eyes didn't so much as flicker, and not a muscle in his body made any sudden movements.

It was like this for several seconds, until his instincts relaxed, and he opened his eyes.

Now in a different time and place Harry might have wondered about the implications that him having such instincts carried, but right now, he was in no condition for any of that. Indeed, his mind was _reeling_.

He could feel them right now, thoughts, memories and emotions, flooding him over and over again, scrambling his brain, making his senses worse than useless. They'd been dormant while he slept, but now that neurons were firing once more in his brain, they came rushing in, trying to impose themselves across his consciousness.

Harry fought against the tide, trying to impose some resemblance of order upon his mind, aided along by instincts and abilities that he didn't understand to any meaningful extent, but used all the same.

And the real miracle was, they _worked_. Slowly but certainly, the mass of data that was rushing about his mind shrank, with strange and mysterious powers stripping away the 'fat', as it were, the emotions, the biases, and the likes and dislikes away from it.

It wasn't, by any stretch of the word, a quick process. Indeed, it ended up taking hours in the real world to complete, during which untold changes and modifications were wrought upon Harry's psyche, both by the bits of the alien mind which were being ripped loose, and much, much more by the age-old sensations and instincts that were busy reshaping him into what he should have been.

The changes weren't _huge,_ as in 'make the guy a completely different person', but they were there, and they were significant.

In the end, the process terminated, the instincts and memories finished assimilating, and Harry opened his eyes once more.

The first thing he noticed was that the room he was in was a rather… _exquisite_ one. The sheets on the bed were silk, and the curtains seemed velvet. The walls were richly depicted with tapestries and paintings of wars and wonders.

Looking around, Harry tried to place where he was, studying his surroundings. But try as he might, he simply had too little data, which reduced him to trying to identify the faces of the people in the paintings.

Speaking of whom, they had started to notice him awake.

Almost immediately, the room filled with noise, as each man and woman tried to yell out different things all at once, each trying to drown out the others. Harry caught some salutations, a few modern greetings and at least three curses in old English, before the whole din suddenly stopped.

Looking around, he spotted the cause. A new figure had just entered a previously vacant frame. It was placed high, in a position of dominance over the room, standing tall and bold, practically designed to attract attention.

But the placing of the frame, the subtle colourations of the room which served to guide one's eyes to it, all paled in comparison to the man whom Harry could see standing in the frame. The hair was a deep, jet black, with high, wisp-like brows over eyes green as the finest emeralds. High cheekbones standing out over the thin mustache and the narrow chin, the face was inexorably familiar to him.

He recalled ages spent staring at photographs of such paintings, trying to trace similarity among their features. Thankfully he did not recall the frustrations that accompanied the attempts, but _that_ was a strange thing in on itself. He recalled the many descriptions and the tales regarding that face and the name of the man, and the many bits and pieces that comprised the legends of Salazar Slytherin.

And indeed, Harry could see the locket, where it hung loose over the rich green robes, glowing as if lit by an inner flame.

Harry's reverie broke at the words "Well, boy? Are you going to stare at me all day, then?"

"Of course not, Lord Slytherin, but it does serve to pay attention to details, does it not?"

The man smiled a slight smile at this, as if something about the line amused him. It was brief, though.

"So."

"So indeed, milord."

"Do you understand your predicament?"

"I believe so, at least to an extent."

"Good. Very good. Confidence is necessary, just see that it doesn't become overconfidence."

"Of course, may I ask where I am?"

"The bedroom of a living area attached to the Chamber of Secrets."

Oddly enough, the information wasn't even the least surprising to Harry. He just nodded, accepting it as the truth.

"And what exactly am I doing here?"

"Well, that _is_ the question, isn't it? You were lying, passed out, in a hidden corridor close to the hospital wing. I noticed, and had one of my creatures bring you here."

"One of your creatures? What is that supposed to mean? What creatures?"

"Child, trust me when I say that you know very little of the true mysteries and secrets of Hogwarts castle. This place is old, older than you can comprehend, and it holds more secrets than you've had hot meals."

Harry fell silent at that, trying to digest what the painting had said. Again, it was all rather plausible, due to both the memories he had from Voldemort, and some rather _interesting_ things he remembered himself.

"I…see." Was all he said, trying to understand just what the situation he was in meant for him.

"In any case, do you understand whose memories it is, that you've just assimilated?"

"Of course."

"And you understand the trouble you're in, then?"

"Oh, yes. I'm not going to forget _that_ , am I?"

"Well?"

"Well what? It isn't as if you've got a training and learning setup ready, do you?"

The smirk that Slytherin showed at this was _quite_ frightening. "Now that you ask…"

And that was how knowledge, the truest of treasures and powers, started to cross the vast, gaping gulf of thirteen hundred years. Harry listened intently, raising questions when needed as Slytherin outlined the resources available in the chamber, from the training equipment to make even a weak heir of Slytherin into a giant bestride the world, to the vast, complicated network of portraits, statues and carvings scattered across the castle and a few choice places far and wide, to the control the master of this place could wield over the multitude of statues, suit of armor and simple arms and weapons present in the building.

The founders had not built a school as much as they had built a house of school, a fortress that even today, when it was drastically weakened and under-supported, could fend off just about any assault or invasion.

Originally, they would have been controlled either by the Headmaster, the Board, or a Council made of the founders' heirs, Slytherin had had decades of life over his colleagues to begin with, and to add to that centuries of careful work with pawns and cats' paws. Of course, even so he didn't control _everything_ , particularly if there were other founders' heirs to challenge him, but the most important bits, all of the information network and a huge chunk of the actual force, were his.

Or rather, Harry's now. That was how he'd been brought here, to this chamber, and that was how he would be able to train and educate himself up enough to survive everything that was coming for him.

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 **70 hours later**

Harry stepped out of the room, looking it all over for the last time. It had been nearly three full days since he came to the chamber, and he finally had a handle on the details of the place. Of course, given the amount of time he'd spent exploring it in between his talking sessions with Slytherin, that was hardly surprising.

He still rolled his eyes sometimes at how offended the man had been when he expressed his belief regarding the place. After all, he had been lead to believe that it was nothing more than a place to hold the Basilisk!

But Mr. Talk-to-snakes had actually screamed at him! _Screamed,_ at _him!_ He recalled the tirade word for word. "Monster cage? Monster cage? This is my life's work! The ultimate apotheosis of my genius! The genius of _Salazar Slytherin!_ "

He'd then told Harry everything about it, while giving him a full, guided tour. The place was Slytherin's last hope, a place built solely to enable him to have his revenge from beyond the grave. Of course, that had led to a retelling of the man's life story, which Harry, despite himself, found rather fascinating.

Slytherin had been born roughly seventy years before the Founding, the third son of the Duke of Parsellsia. His mother had been Acheron Slytherin's fourth wife, the daughter of a mage who ruled most of what would go on to become the Kingdom of León.

Indeed, her homeland had been something of an issue with both her husband and his other consorts, especially when she insisted upon giving him the name that she did. Fortunately for both mother and son, beyond that one thing she had been an extremely able schemer and manipulator, a fact proven just by the fact that Salazar had reached adulthood despite the elaborate machinations of her sister-wives.

Oh yes, sir, strange insistence on names aside, Silvana of Jimena had been _clever_. It was a good thing that she'd passed on her skills to her son, but only slightly less important was the fact that she'd passed on her fabulous wealth onto him as well. That money and knowledge had been what had allowed him to take off after copying most of the family library, once she fell, at last, to the predations of the druidic princess who was her fiercest competitor in Acheron's coven.

But it'd seen a twenty-odd years old Salazar at loose in the world, at a time during which the endless civil wars that had ripped Europe had just started to die down. It was…not a pretty time to be around. There had been too many wars in too short a time, between Uther's conquest, Mordred's uprising, and the medley of civil wars that had followed, forming a disastrous cake that was topped off with the Raiding, and the imposition of the Merlinian Accords.

All of that amounted to young Salazar having to hide his British origins, because the mood far and wide was…hostile, to wildly understate things. The task was made much easier by his complexion and extensive repertoire of languages, and in the end there wasn't much to stop him.

And so he traveled. He went far and wide, moving across the whole world, seeking out knowledge from all the nooks and crannies that it lurked in, and simply enjoying things as much as possible. He traveled across the length and breadth of Europe for a while, taking on various names and guises, looking over at the lands where not so long ago his family had been one of the most powerful.

He crossed the ocean and spent years wandering amid the Aztecs and the Mayans, learning what little they would teach of their arts to an outsider. He eventually happened across the empires of the Sun and the Moon, where his talent made him revered and honored beyond all others, and from there to the lands of the Whirlpool, where no such thing happened.

Of course, time has a curious habit of passing, an addiction that it just can't quit. And so, years elapsed. Salazar drank deep of knowledge and power, compiling a vast library across his travels that he devoted first months and then years in mastering. Not that he became a shut in, of course. These were the old days, full of myth and magic and sword and sorcery, and Salazar was second to none.

So he travelled, and in those travels made friends and allies and enemies, taking care, though, to double back and 'unmake'(brutally murderize, for the dense ones among you) the last when no one was looking.

In the end, it was a world-weary and well travelled Salazar who returned home, nearly fifty years of age. And once home, he _acted_. His stepmothers were the first, dead of the poison of a snake he'd received as a gift. It had come from a being called Kaldoot, a runespoor-like Lamia who'd been around since the Age of Dragons, and who then served as the regent of the island kingdom of Nagmani Dweep. The snake was the first of its kind in the west, although with time it would come to be known far and wide.

Of course, his brothers weren't all that stupid. After their mothers died, they were on the lookout for poison and betrayal, and indeed, several started working on arranging accidents against Sal himself.

It didn't help. The young lords of house Slytherin had been busy growing fat and week, reveling in their own decadence, and what few measures they took were so worthless that they might as well not have bothered.

So they died, with their blood and magic used ritually to empower Salazar, which, in the end, left Sal and dear old dad. With his inheritance secure, Salazar left once more. His father could take care of the estates for now, he had things to do. And if the old man wanted to reestablish his coven, well, he was welcome to do so, especially since it'd only add to the collective wealth Salazar would inherit.

The rest of his life…was a tale for another time.

What mattered right now was that Harry get underway the plans that they had been making. Because the one thing they did not have plenty of was time. Harry needed to get moving _right now_ , to get topside and answer the questions that were arising right now, no doubt.

Over the last several two days he and Salazar had done a great deal of discussion and planning, and they had, between them, hammered out a rather good plan, if he did say so himself. But step one was to deal with the people in the school above them, which was why Harry was heading to a particular room in the chamber right now.

You see, there was a rather interesting trick involved in Harry spending two days down there in the chamber. If he'd simply disappeared, it would've started a hullabaloo that there would've been no way to contain. So Salazar had made use of his near-limitless power over the castle to arrange things. A simulacrum placed in the bed he'd been on, enchantments layered to fool all the diagnostic spells, a few simple pieces of mind magic at the nurse, and everyone believed that Harry was simply unconscious.

The real beauty of the lie was, it made perfect sense. After all, he'd almost been kissed!

And so there was nothing to trip him up, as he lay down on the bed, and then uttered the word that, with a small vibrating sensation and a sound like a flap of wings, replaced him with the aforementioned simulacrum.

Of course, this was night time, so Harry had time to work on some of the more important things.

And so he did. The first thing to take care of was his mind. Occlumency was not an art mastered in a night, but a great deal of work could be done, regardless, allowed that one knew the right tricks. Harry did, and so he dedicated himself bringing his mind in order, and to establish a grip over his thoughts and emotions, which basically meant several hours of deep introspection so that he could sort out what belonged where in his psyche, and to establish his own mind and himself in it.

It was exhausting work, more so than almost anything else, so he could be forgiven for not realizing it when the pretence of sleep he was doing in his bed became the actual thing, sometime about a few hours after he started.

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When he awoke, the first sight he lay eyes upon reminded him strongly of first year. It was Dumbledore, sitting on the bed adjacent to his, looking closely at him through half-moon spectacles.

Sitting up, Harry blinked at the man to clear away the spots dotting his vision. Ugh… he must have hit his head on the bedpost when he fell asleep…

"How are you doing, Harry?" the Headmaster's voice was as kindly as ever, nevertheless bringing his attention back from when it'd begun to wander.

"Huh?" was Harry's extraordinarily articulate reply.

Dumbledore just smiled slightly in a strange, sad way most unlike him, before repeating his question.

"Oh. Headmaster. I'm fine. But-but the dementors! Sirius, Hermione!"

The old man's face grew infinitely sadder then, before a look of anger and resolve grew in his eyes. "The dementors are gone, Harry. I saw to their removal two days ago."

"Oh. That's uh…great, sir. But where are Ron and Hermione? And Sirius, sir! Sirius is innocent!"

Dumbledore just smiled sardonically, before responding "Harry, don't go rushing to conclusions, now. Black used some very powerful magic on you. Why don't you rest a bit, and let your mind sort itself out?"

So that was what they were going with. "What, no, sir! Sirius is innocent! It was Pettigrew!"

Dumbledore shook his head. "That is what Black bewitched you to believe, Harry. You really just need to rest a bit, you know."

"Okay, sir, if you say so."

Harry closed his eyes again, pretending to sleep. Meanwhile, he was thinking furiously. So Ron and Hermione had turned on Sirius, had they? But why? What could they possibly gain from it?

He would get his answer the next morning, when they both came to see him. As it turned out, they actually _believed_ that Sirius had confounded him into believing his innocence, and they had just 'gone along'. It made his blood boil, but it was as it was. Ron had seized upon the chance to be greater than 'famous Harry Potter' at something, parading his 'strong-mindedness against bewitchment' through the school, and as for Hermione, well, once the Minister and Dumbledore agreed that Sirius was guilty, that was all she needed.

Truth be told, it was a blessing in disguise. It gave Harry the excuse he needed to dump both of them unceremoniously, _and_ would allow him to focus on his other, more important considerations.

Over the next week and a half, until the time came for the Hogwarts Express, the denizens of the castle cam to see a very different Harry Potter. Or rather, they would have, if he'd actually ever been seen. After being released from Pomfrey's care the day after his chat with Dumbledore, Harry disappeared from everyone's radars. He left the Gryffindor dormitory before anyone woke up, and came back long after everyone else was asleep. He was never seen at meals, nor anywhere in the corridors or the grounds. Indeed, the only times anyone saw him at all was in a few flashes here and there, times when he simply ignored anyone calling out for him.

Which was all for the best, because it was rather unlikely that they would have been able to come to terms with the vast changes that had come to his appearance alone, let alone the other things beyond that.

Harry had, at the time of the Dementor attack, been a thin, weedy little thing, severely malnourished and barely put together. It was the work of the Dursleys, of course, who had always taken perverse joy in treating him worse than anyone could get away with treating dogs. He never received a drop of milk in their care. All that he ever ate were leftovers, once a day, and all that on top of a life that was so laden with work that it was more similar to a Dickensian orphan than anything the poorest of modern children could suffer.

Indeed, but for his magic and the diet he had at Hogwarts, he'd have been a complete invalid, if not dead of starvation at two. Frail, brittle bones, underdeveloped organs, pasty, clammy skin… scurvy, there was a lot that if it didn't kill him in a few years, would cripple his magic keeping his body functional despite it all.

Fortunately, there was precious little magic couldn't fix, if and when the need arose. And so over the course of ten days Harry had been on a diet to end all diets. Massive, humongous meals were the norm for him, followed by nutrient potions to wash it all down, and hours upon hours of spells and rituals to direct all that substance to the right places. It was all rather delicate work, but thankfully the kind Voldemort had paid attention to, when he'd researched it as a possible means for immortality.

All of that meant that the Harry Potter who walked onto the Hogwarts express was a very different young man from the one who'd stepped off it at the beginning of the year. The spectacles were gone, for one thing, and that was the least of the changes. Harry was now about five inches taller, which, along with the filling-out and shoulder-widening that had gone on, made him look a year or two too big for his age.

And other than his health, there was the matter of his appearance. With his bones having been strengthened to and beyond how they should have been, his organs having been fully developed and healed, and the myriad problems and budding diseases he'd had since before he could remember all gone, Harry seemed to nowadays exude a glow of pure health. That, in addition to the strange luster his hair and eyes had taken…well, there was no escaping that word. He looked _beautiful_.

All of which were, to be honest, all the more reasons for avoiding people. Such changes could be explained as having happened over a summer. In a week and a half? Ha. He'd endured 'dark wizard' rumors once, and that was _quite_ enough, thank you.

Still, in between improving his health, learning Occlumency, and training ever so regularly, the days passed pretty quickly, which brought Harry to where he was now, sitting in an empty compartment on the Express. Locked doors with a Go-Away charm ensured his privacy, which gave him time to just sit and _think_. There was a lot he needed to get done, the first of them being the collection of certain… artifacts, if he were to be discrete.

Beyond that, there was the matter of increasing his power, both by increasing his personal power and by expanding his influence upon the people around him. Of them the former was a much bigger priority right now, which was helped along a lot by the memories floating around in his head. Those would help, _oh_ yes, but they were far from the only things he needed.

Harry remembered the discovery he'd made, back in the chamber when he and Salazar had conducted the Inheritance test. Who'd have thought that he was a pureblood? And the bloodlines he had, too! It had taken the both of them three more tests and two hours to believe it, but the results… the results changed everything.

Of course, it wasn't all fun and games. As excited as Harry was for the powers and abilities his bloodlines could grant him, there were certain requirements to be fulfilled. Pureblood children were raised since birth in a life steeped in tradition, mystery and myth. There were customs to be honored, practices to be upheld and traditions to be continued. None of them were the muggle kind like 'do this and that', 'don't marry those people and sleep with these people' and all, thankfully, but what he did have could be explained in three words. Rituals, rituals and more rituals.

Indeed, it was as if every pureblood family had an unhealthy fascination for them!

Which meant, unfortunately, that Harry was running very, _very_ late. Still, there were solutions. The vast majority of the rituals were purely symbolic, so could be easily skipped.

That left about… a hundred and ten or so, and he'd gotten through most of them in the past few days, using adapted versions to compensate whenever needed. Still, those few represented a significant quantity of power and opportunities for it, and so they had to be dealt with soon.

In regards to them, Harry and Salazar had been hard at work modifying those rituals and potions, isolating and breaking down their effects, searching out alternates, and in general shortening things as much as possible so that it all could be done in as little time as could be. For the most part, they'd succeeded.

As of the train ride, Harry had a total of one ritual to go through in order to catch up with all of the ones he missed, and even better, they'd been able to use his unique situation to merge that ritual with the first of the major rituals that Harry would have to undergo in the future, if he was to transcend his mortality.

Which, needless to say, he most certainly was.

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The Hogwarts express slowed into the platform built at an unplottable, undetectable location so close to the coast that it was almost in the channel, and started disgorging the students it was carrying into the heart of London. Most years, this was a time of joy and happiness, as parents and children met after months, but today the children were collected, taken to the station and thence away in a quiet, morose procession, keenly aware of the tragedy that had befallen only days ago.

In the crowd, it was pathetically easy for one black-haired, green eyed boy to slip away, and if anything, easier to avoid the two Walrus-whale hybrids and the one horse-faced bitch looking for him at the muggle side.

The three creatures would go away a half-hour or so later, cursing him at the top of their voices, but he was long gone by then. He had a _ton_ of work to do.

A few minutes after Harry departed the station, a building in one of London's worst districts, which purported to be a warehouse to the outside world, was also broken into, although nothing, or rather no one, given as the place was a mortuary of sorts to the magical world, was apparently taken.

Meanwhile, having acquired the cadavers of teacher and godfather, Harry got to preparing them for what he had in mind. They were stripped, cleaned and then placed into separate coffins… or rather, given Harry's intentions, sarcophagi. Potions were poured in, runes tested and then powered up, spells were cast and tested.

The whole process was tedious and occupied Harry for the remainder of the day, which suited him just fine.

When night came, a soundless apparition brought the young wizard back to his place of torment. Silent as the night, he went into the house, heading straight for the kitchen.

From there, it was a few short minutes work to slit three throats, before stuffing them into the body-bags (waterproof, of course) he'd brought with himself. Doing everything the muggle way was tiresome, but he couldn't take the risk, and in any case even Vernon became light as a matchbox once Harry threw him into the enchanted trunk.

And that, as they said, was that. His muggle 'family' was taken care of. He'd come back, of course.

This neighbourhood…he'd be back for the housewives who gossiped about everything under the sun but couldn't notice the malnourished boy wearing rags right in front of them. He'd b back for teachers who happily gave him detentions and punishments on the word of an obvious bully and his friends. He'd be back for a police force that forgot all about the law and child protection in the face of a few bundles of cash.

Oh yes, he'd be back all right.

One day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX


	3. Chapter 3

Harry checked the room one last time, taking special care in looking for any illusions or physical concealments. It was unlikely the magic around him would, or even _could_ hide things from him, given as after a portion of Voldemort's soul had merged with his he registered as Voldemort himself to all the magic the foul man had ever cast, but it never hurt to be thorough.

Assured he had not missed anything, he rechecked his takings. There were several vials of potions, a whole lot of money, some books and potion supplies, and most important of them all, eight wands. Of the last, seven weren't all that important, really. They were just your run-of-the mill wands Voldemort had hidden away in case of a rainy day. But the last one, the one that was enchanted as a portkey that would activate to bring it here if anything happened to Voldy, that one was interesting.

Yew and Phoenix feather, it was the brother wand to Harry's, bearing a tail feather from the bird whose tears ran in Harry's blood to this day. Harry had _plans_ for that wand.

With the contents of the safe house gathered up, Harry set fire to it with a flick of a wand, before apparating away to the Chamber. That was another thing taken care of. Now he just had to gather up about… nine more bolt-holes, before he would be done.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The room was as huge as Harry had first entered it, positively the size of a cathedral. Harry had blasted away the ugly-ass statue that had dominated it, an act that was actually supported by Salazar, since it hadn't been him depicted but rather that fucktard of a headmaster who'd renovated the place.

Harry finished pouring the last of the pearls into the pool, and stood back up to look it all over. The white orbs, each enchanted with a different combination of spells, were floating merrily in the solution, some at the surface and others at the middle, while yet others, Harry knew, were rolling around on the bottom.

The solution itself was a very complicated mixture of potions and naturally occurring fluids, including more than a few molten metals that hung around giving the appearance of veins in the liquid that distracted only a little from the third and most important series of items in the pool. Because there were, at the time, no less than fifty one separate wands in the pool. They were lying there, floating at the top like dead fish, looking like broken twigs for all the power that lay within them. And aye, power it was.

Of course, of the fifty one forty nine were almost entirely irrelevant, being there more to provide small additional benefits than out of any real need. That was solely for two of them. One made of Holly, the other of Yew, and both bearing feathers from the same phoenix.

The pool in question was one of the three small ones here, all placed at equidistant points along the circumference of the central, main pool, to which they were all connected with channels that had been cut into their bottoms. Not that anything was flowing along them right now. Magic was nifty like that.

Satisfied with this one, Harry moved to the second of the pools. This one was…quite a bit more grisly. the first thing that drew one's eyes in it was the sleek wooden pole that rose from the exact centre of the pool, being fixed to the floor at the deepest part of the hemisphere. Not that that was visible.

Because, you see, the pole just happened to be going through five corpses, each of them having been forced onto it so that it went straight through their hearts. The pool itself was brimming with their blood, mixed with several specific and important potions and materials, not to mention more blood from a few other sources.

Buts despite all that, it was the contents of the third small pool that would kill off all the faint of heart. The fluid that dominated this particular pool was an absolute, lamp-black, a shade that seemed to suck up all the light around it, pulling it in greedily and never letting go. Lying in that blackness were the remains of what had till an year or so ago been the oldest basilisk in the world, and indeed, the first basilisk ever seen outside of India.

It was the snake that Salazar had brought to the west from his sojourns in India, the venom of which he'd used to kill off his rivals for the family lordship. Looking at the pieces now floating in its own venom and blood, Harry had to admit that it didn't really look much different than any other snake.

Not that it was the only magical creature in the pool. The corpse of a hippogriff lay right in the middle of the cut-up pieces of snake, surrounded with other bits and pieces. There were pieces from seven different Unicorns, the animals that had been killed by Voldemort in Harry's first year. It'd been a rather tricky thing to do to steal them from the centaur herds that had 'taken custody' of them, especially without killing any of the centaurs (it would've destroyed the purity), but Harry had managed it. There were some other pieces as well, too minor and too many to name, really, but which nonetheless would provide some rather nifty advantages upon being sacrificed.

Of course, even with the difficulties involved in acquiring _just_ the right ingredients, mixing them in exactly the right ways and counterbalancing all the reactions they could've had (Hogwarts, Hogsmeade, and most of the surrounding area would've been either vaporized or turned into jelly if Harry had just poured everything in), all of this happened to be the _easy_ part.

Surrounding the pools were a number of circles done in a mixture of molten gold, phoenix ash and powdered thestral bone. Apart from the paint used, they were drawn not with a simple line, but rather comprising of more than ten million symbols in total, in script that had covered most of the chamber before it became compressed into the circles as it was.

And in between the circles and the pools was even more ritual paraphernalia. Candles made with the fat of father and son Dursley, heaps of dried blood from Petunia, vials filled with potions and blood and memories and skin, other symbols carved onto beaten plates of alchemical silver floating in the air… among a lot of other things.

All in all, this was a rather extremely tricky ritual, combining in itself all the little things Harry was supposed to have done since age 9, along with the first three rituals of power, and the first in the eleven rituals to Immortality and Beyond. Which, yes, put in firmly under the heading of 'pretty damn important'.

Stripping himself completely nude, Harry stepped into the central pool, stepping into the hemisphere quickly. He lay down, facing upwards, and one after the other, intoned seven phrases. Immediately after that, the recording crystals placed around the room glowed for a brief flash, before a myriad collection of chants, all in Harry's own voice, started to echo across the hall.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **25** **th** **July, 1994  
Kent**

The manor house was… statuesque, no one could deny that. At the time it was built it had been one of the finest houses in Britain, bar none, and even today its magnificence was entirely undiminished. The pile, as the less reverent called it, was surrounded by more than five hundred acres of compound, dotted across which were a collection of some of the most beautiful fountains and statues out there, not to mention the exotic, well-cared for trees placed delicately along the well-graveled paths. All in all, it painted a magnificent picture of old British wealth and power, as befit the home of one of the oldest and most influential institutions in the western world.

Of course, looking closer, one would notice the faults that ran across it, which was why most never did. Marring the tranquil beauty of the vast lawns were a number of single-story buildings, which one could tell at first sight had been built well after the main manor. They weren't _ugly_ , per se, but compared to the manor... well, between them, and the antics that all of the aforementioned beautiful statues liked to perform on unsuspecting people as they passed by, it did more than a little bit to reduce the respect people had for the British Magical College of Arms.

But none of that mattered to the young man sauntering down to the building from the apparition point about fifty meters away.

Harry Potter, when he disappeared on the day Hogwarts let out, had been a malnourished wisp of a boy, all skin and bones. He'd been a little bit on the way along to a proper, full health, but it'd only just begun. Apart from that, he'd been raised as a muggle slave, to be utterly meek and subservient, desperate for even the slightest hint of affection or familiarity. It was something that _reeked_ from his every movement, and did more to chase people away from him than if he'd been blasting killing curses in all directions.

Which was pretty much what certain parties had wanted, but that was another matter.

 _Now,_ though, no one could even _think_ that. Harry Potter walked tall and straight-backed, hair pulled back to show his scarf proudly, his gait that of the lord he was born to be, and the expression on his face a cool, detached arrogance that proclaimed for one and all that he didn't care what you wanted and you'd better get out of his way, _now!_

The clothes on his back reflected that. Instead of the beggar's garb that his peers at Hogwarts had always seen him wearing, or the simple, off-the-rack Hogwarts robes, he was wearing the finest clothes money could buy, bought at one of the best (and naturally, one of the most expensive) tailors in France.

It took Harry about a minute or so to walk into the building, where he made his way directly to the woman sitting at the reception. He had gotten appointment the day before, so he was promptly taken to the man he'd come to see, one of the deputies to the chairman of the College.

Entering the office he was shown to, Harry was sat down immediately, who immediately offered his a choice of refreshments.

"No, thank you, Mr. Spencer." Harry denied calmly. "If you don't mind, I'd rather get directly to business. I apologize for the rudeness, but there are a lot of things to get done."

"Of course, of course, Mr. Potter. No trouble at all." The man said good-naturedly. Harry got the distinct feeling that he could've asked the man to conduct this meeting standing on his head and he would've done it to please The Boy Who Lived.

"So, you said in your letter that you wanted to validate your inheritances, and to press whatever claims may be necessary?"

"That's correct."

"Well then, let's begin. I was able to look at the certificate you enclosed, and yes, it's perfectly valid. Nevertheless, there remain I's to dot and T's to cross, so this could take a while. You, er, don't mind, I hope?"

"Of course, not, Mr. Spencer. But I would appreciate if things could be gotten done as quickly as possible."

"Right, right. So, your certificate established your claim to five titles, yes? Two Ancient and Noble ones, and three of the, er, greater ones?"

"Yes." So _this_ was what had the man to eager to please him. Not just his public title, but the extremely tangible political and economic power that he represented.

"Yes, well, so we need to formally trace out your claim to each of these titles, and establish you as the sole heir to them. That will settle the estates, fortunes and seats all upon you, with the entail."

"I understand that." Harry said, suppressing the annoyance that was threatening to bubble up. He knew why the man had to state the obvious like this (Harry was a minor. That meant that Spencer needed to be able to present a memory of clearly laying everything out to him. It was all that would allow his career to survive if anything ever went pear-shaped), but that didn't make it any less annoying.

"Good. Then let us see. The first, and the simplest, is the Earldom of Stinchcombe. The last Lord Potter was your grandfather, Lord Charles. Given as a direct line connects you two, there's no conflicts or doubts. You are unquestionable the heir to the title."

Harry just nodded lightly.

"After this, there is the Peverell title. Your certificate names you heir to it, which, to be frank is rather surprising. That the Potters have strong descent from the Peverells is without doubt. But the Dukedom of Azkaban went into abeyance in the fifteenth century, after Duke Edward died childless. Normally, that would have settled the title upon the other heirs, and brother or sister he may have had, but there were none. As a matter of fact, there were no valid heirs within several generations." Here he looked at Harry, and for some reason seemed profoundly glad that he hadn't dozed off.

"Now normally, since the last time a Peverell daughter married out of the family had been when Iolanthe Peverell wed Hardwin Potter back in the twelfth century, the title would have gone to the Potters. But there were certain clauses in the Charter of the House of Peverell that made that impossible."

"What clauses?" Harry asked.

"The clauses about the family gifts. You the simple fact is, any heirs removed from the male line by more than seven generations have to prove that they bear the traditional gifts and talents of the family. It serves as a measure to keep the family gifts strong."

"Which, in this case, were…?"

"Necromancy, Mr. Potter. Power over the dead. It is a requirement for the Peverell inheritance to pass."

"And for the title to have turned up on my certificate…"

"Yes. I daresay you have to have quite the talent. Nonetheless, given as it _is_ there on your certificate, it enables you to try the ring, at least. If you're rejected, then that'll be that."

"Of course."

"And, well, it's pretty much the same for Gryffindor. A daughter married into the Potters, and centuries later, the male line died out. Which, in the end, brings us to Slytherin."

Harry had to admit, the man was an utter professional. He showed nothing at the idea of Harry inheriting the Slytherin title. No shock, no horror, nothing, treating it just as one more thing. It was in stark contrast with how he'd been treating Harry with Kiddy gloves just because he had five titles. But people could be contradictory like that.

"Now this is actually rather interesting. Your claim upon the Slytherin line is substantiated through not one, but two channels."

"Okay… how would that work?"

"Let's see. Your mother shows up as a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin through the Gaunt family, with her grand…" Harry interrupted the man here. "What? No, there must be a mistake. My mother was a muggleborn!"

"I assure you, Mr. Potter, the College of Arms does not make mistakes. Our spells and enchantments for tracing bloodlines are the finest in Europe."

"Of course, of course. Continue." Harry muttered lightly, continuing the show. It was a show he _needed_ to put on, because even the slightest whisper about him having known or expected anything about this could cause political earthquakes down the line.

"As I was saying, this tree clearly states that your grandfather, Mr. Henry Evans, was actually born Morag Gaunt, the son of Morfin and Merope Gaunt, a squib."

"Wait. I have hard those names somewhere. Morfin and Merope Gaunt… correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't they siblings?"

"Indeed, Mr. Potter." The man said, showing not the slightest reaction to Harry's pronouncement.

Harry decided that that was the best course of action, and calmed himself.

"Now, Morag Gaunt, while not quite a squib, possessed very little in terms of magical talent, and as such he was not even really entitled to the family name in life, let alone any inheritances. But that is another matter. He sired two daughters, both purebloods, on a Ms. Anne Roskonov. Of the daughters, the elder was a squib, while the younger was the first magical of the new branch of the Gaunt family, a Ms. Lilith Illyria Gaunt, also known as Lily Ariadne Evans." He paused here, running an eye over Harry as if checking to see if he was going to interrupt the man again.

When Harry gave no such indication, he continued. "The elder daughter birthed a son, also squib, with a muggle, while the younger, of course, was your mother," he finished. Harry was about to say something, when the man spoke again "It might interest you to know that Ms. Petunia Gaunt and Mr. Dudley Gaunt both perished roughly three weeks ago."

"I assure you, it doesn't in the slightest."

"Very well. Now that we have traced your bloodline, we need to establish the passing of the title. When the original Slytherin male line died out, the Gaunts at the time were the only remaining cadet branch. Unfortunately, the last Duke of Parsellsia, a Lord Eldon Slytherin, set down in his will that the abeyance clauses were to be invoked regardless, because he did not trust the Gaunts."

"That shouldn't have posed a problem, the Gaunts were all parselmouths, as far as I know."

"Ah yes. But that is where you're incorrect in this. While yes, Salazar's gift has run strong among the Slytherins, the fact is that it is not, in fact, the actual Slytherin gift. That would be the art and science of Mind Magic. A true Lord of the House of Slytherin have two three things. Direct descent from a Duke of Parsellsia, a potential for Mind Magic, and lastly, they must be of pure blood for thirteen generations."

"I see." And indeed, Harry did. This was a conversation he had _distinct_ memory of.

"There was actually a claim made for the Slytherin lordship, back in the forties. The claimant, a Mr. Thomas Gaunt, actually fulfilled two of the criteria. That was enough to entitle him to put on the ring, actually. Unfortunately for him, he was a half-blood, and as such, was deemed unworthy."

Once again, the man shifted slightly in his seat, before leaning over the table again. "Now, this is where we get into the thorny bit. Mr. Thomas had a claim on the title, and as long as it remained, taking up the title would be extremely complicated for anyone, no matter their legitimacy and right to it. Which meant that the Lady Potter could not even be notified of her claim, let alone be called to take it up."

"But then she perished, and all that was left were you. This wouldn't have made any difference, really, but it was noted that moments after your mother's death Lord Voldemort made an attack upon you, which was construed by the Slytherin family magic as an attempt to seize your birthright. He failed, naturally, but the act was counted as a valid, legitimate clash for the claims, decided in your favor. In effect, Thomas had yielded his claim to you, naming you his heir by magic and soul. With the two claims consolidated upon you…"

"I can take the title?"

"Yes, I believe you can."

"Well, let's get on with it, then." Harry stated with a definite note of finality in his tone.

"Yes indeed, we should." The man agreed.

An elf was summoned and orders issued, and moments later a tray with five small, elaborate boxes on it appeared on Spencer's desk. He gestured Harry towards it. "You know, you're lucky. Five families… as little as two hundred years ago, the whole ring-wearing process would have taken most of a day."

"Really, I didn't know that. I guess I am, then."

"Now remember, if the ring rejects you, don't try to force anything. The lethal countermeasures are disabled as you have at least as claim on each of them, but trying to take anything by force will reactivate them all instantaneously."

"Okay." Harry responded, before opening the first box. It was the one with the Potter family ring (there was an order of precedence to be obeyed). The ring was… frankly speaking, an ugly, gaudy thing, made of gold with a huge clear diamond set in the middle, engraved with the Potter insignia.

For all the anticipation that Harry had built up, the actual 'putting-on' was rather dull. Harry put the ring on the finger Spencer indicated, and it resized to fit him snugly, before glowing brightly to confirm acceptance.

After that it was the Peverell ring, gold again but with a black diamond. It was followed by Gryffindor, gold with a ruby the size of one of his knuckles, until Harry came to the Black family ring. This one required a few spells to be cast ceremoniously before Harry put the white gold and black diamond band on. That was how the whole thing went, until the glow from the Slytherin ring (platinum and emerald) was gone.

Turning to the man, Harry saw him nodding "Well, that's that, then. Congratulations, your lordship. You are now the heir to no less than five noble titles, entailed to which come five of the most exalted fortunes and estates in the world."

Harry acknowledged this with a curt nod, before frowning slightly.

"There is the matter of secrecy."

The man gave him a vane smile at this, as if he'd expected the question. "Yes, that. It's always interesting to watch newly anointed lords and heirs get fussy about secrecy. Don't worry, my lord. The College of Arms would not have endured as an institution as long as it has if we were in the business of disclosing our patrons' affairs. Indeed, it would mean a fifty year term in Azkaban."

"Really? But doesn't the ministry or the wizengamot require you to tell?"

"Come on now, my lord, you should know better," the man chided lightly "Do you really think any of your peers in the 'mot would have ever let a law pass that infringed on their rights like that?".

Harry could only look sheepish. It was easy for him, being muggle raised as he was, to forget it, but the lords held real power in this world, the kind of which their muggle 'contemporaries' could only dream of.

"Well, my lord, is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Well, there is something I've been wondering about. When you were telling me about the Slytherin bloodline, you changed several names from what I know of them. I mean, you called my aunt Petunia Gaunt, when her married name is Dursley."

"Ah, yes. Well, the answer to that is rather simple. Magic simply does not acknowledge muggle names. The alternative names for your mother and grandfather were acknowledged, because they were magical. Similarly, Mr. Thomas Gaunt, while bearing officially the name of Riddle, actually registered himself as Gaunt to us."

"Oh. Okay, thanks for telling me."

"Oh, it was nothing. Now, if that is all…"

"One last thing, actually."

"Yes, my lord?"

"Imperio" Harry cast. Once he was through the whole 'feeling his will extend to cover the other's mind thing', he leaned back in his chair. It was a good thing that the ritual had eliminated his need for wands, because he'd had to surrender his replacement at the reception to prevent this exact thing. He spent several seconds silent, checking the orders he'd planned out for loopholes. Once he was satisfied, he continued.

"You will make no mention whatsoever of this meeting, or the things discussed and done here. You will never reveal the truth of Harry Potter's inheritance, no matter the situation or the consequences of your silence. If pressed excessively about it, you will commit suicide in a discrete manner that will nonetheless appear to be a murder, and you will cast the dark mark over you before doing it." Harry finished. That would take care of this particular loophole. He knew it would be next to impossible, and more importantly, pointless to keep his inheritance a secret, but he wouldn't have it cried from the rooftops just yet.

And the best part was, it wasn't even illegal for him! The Imperius was a spell created by the Slytherin family (all mind magic was, really, from the cheering charm to the Obliviation curse), and it was one of the most fundamental parts of the British Magical Constitution that no noble family could be stopped from practicing their family arts.

Shaking his head at the laws and traditions that made it so unbelievable simple for people like him to do things, Harry collected his wand from the reception before leaving.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The building was buttercup-yellow in color, and four stories tall, making it one of the biggest buildings on the street. Well, alley, really. Legal Alley was home to over twenty offices, each of them commanding business to the tune of tens and hundreds of millions, but even among them the law firm of Talbot, Smith and Boot was among the richest and oldest.

And it was here that Harry had his next meeting. T,S&B had been solicitors to the Potter family for longer than anyone cared to remember, and Ralph Talbot had all but jumped to establish contact to Harry when he'd written to the man a couple of weeks ago.

Moving quickly, Harry had made his way to the building in seconds, nodding lightly at the man at the door before asking to be led to the office of the man. That took another half-minute, and then Harry was settled on a chair across the enormous desk, looking at the slightly fat, jovial looking man in gold-rimmed spectacles.

"Hello, Mr. Potter. I must say, you're a sight for sore eyes. I trust you didn't have any trouble at the College?"

"Oh no, Mr. Talbot. None at all." Harry answered with a small smile.

"Good, good. Now, if you don't mind, I've taken the liberty of getting in touch with the goblins on your behalf, so we can have a proper accounting of your assets as quickly as possible."

"That should save us some trouble, should it not?" Harry asked in response.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter, indeed. Anyway, it should take it some time to come, so what would you like to discuss in that time?"

"I suppose I would like to know what residences I have. My current living arrangements… leave a lot to be desired, and I would love to move somewhere better."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter. Let's see. Given the age and wealth of the family, you certainly have no shortage of houses to choose from. There are over fifteen separate residences on the records, about a third of them in Britain," the man paused for a second, turning a page in the file that had suddenly appeared on his desk. "There is a town house in London and another in Liverpool, cottages in Godric's Hollow, Upper Flagley and Hogsmeade, two castles in Scotland and three separate Manors." Another page turned. "Out of the country, well, you have the Chateau in the south of France, a few castles and villas dotted across Eastern Europe, the usual cottages on the beaches, but I hardly think that you'd like to go out of the country." The man finished with a dismissive flick of a hand.

"Well, you'd be right about that. Still… what happened to Stinchcombe Hall?"

"Burned down as of 1986, in the attack that killed your grandparents."

"Because of course it was." Harry muttered, too low for the man to hear. He was about to raise the issue of his other inheritances with the man, but he thought better of it when he sensed the new presence in the building. "Well alright, I'll think of something. I'd like to get started on the liquid holdings, now that the goblin is here."

The man looked up, surprised. Harry could see that he was about to ask about it, before the knock on the door interrupted him. "Goblin Silverclaw to see you, sir." The doorman spoke, ushering in the midget.

Moving quickly and deliberately, the green-skinned creature sat itself quickly on the chair close to Harry, fiddling a bit with the satchel it was carrying, before pulling out a fat envelope. Placing it on the table, it spoke. "So, the Potter heir has accepted his position, has he?"

"Indeed he has, Silverclaw." Talbot responded calmly, gesturing at Harry. The goblin turned and nodded tightly at Harry. "Heir Potter." It said by way of greeting.

"Manager Silverclaw." Harry greeted back.

"What do you need to know, then?"

"A full report on my current finances, for one." Harry asked, taking the rudeness in stride.

As a response, the creature passed the envelope across the desk to Harry. "That's the Gringotts copy of your family ledger. It'll tell you all you need to know about your accounts. And once you merge it with the copy here, you'll know the rest too, no doubt."

Harry nodded in response. Family Ledgers were Important Business. Detailing every transaction, legal or illegal, local or international, that the family had ever been involved in, they were a vital tool for any lord.

Several copies typically existed, held in the office of the Head of House in the family seat of the clan, with the solicitors, with the bank, and one last copy in the office every Lord was entitled to at the Ministry. Because the old, pureblooded families was not comprised of absolute morons, the only _complete_ copy was the one at the family seat, all the others being partials that had to be collected and merged. Of course, even that could only be done by the lord or the heir.

Harry looked sharply at the lawyer sitting across the desk, who was already pulling out a big, leather bound book out of a drawer in his desk. Harry took it, and placed both it and the Gringotts copy in an expanded pocket. "That's well and good, but you draw a hefty salary to tell me these things. So tell me." he said with just a hint of harshness in his voice.

"Of course, my lord." The goblin responded. Right now all six of the Potter investments accounts are frozen. Apart from them, the personal accounts of James and Lily Potter have been filled with the annual one hundred thousand galleons each for the thirteenth time, bringing the total up to one point one five million each. A total sum of sixty thousand galleons was paid out as the family responsibilities…"

"Wait. What was that about my parents' personal vaults?"

"Before his death Lord Potter established an annual payment to the personal vaults of his son and daughter in law, which has been paid out in full all these years. The total currently comes up to just short of two point three million galleons. A fortune, but barely a fraction of the total Potter Fortune." The goblin finished, an undercurrent of anger in his tone.

"I got that just fine. What I want to know about is the missing money. If twenty six hundred grand have been paid into the account, then why are there only twenty three hundred?"

"Well, there are a number of payments setup from both accounts. The biggest expense, of course, is your Hogwarts tuition, one hundred and forty thousand galleons, split equally between your parents' accounts. Apart from that, there are ten thousand galleons paid out as a stipend for your upbringing from James Potter's vault, and five thousand more from Lily Potter's vault. Thirty thousand from each account are paid into your own trust fund account ever since you turned eleven, in addition to the fifty thousand from the family vault that have been paid since your birth." Here it paused, staring at the wall for a few seconds, as if trying to remember something. Harry looked at Talbot. If the older man knew what the goblin's motive behind this show was, he showed no sign.

It continued "Beyond that, there's the five thousand galleons a month paid to the Godric's Hollow Resident's Welfare Association, and numerous smaller payments to charities and trusts from your father's vaults. " The goblin paused here, casting eyes over Harry to make sure he hadn't followed what he was saying.

Harry could _see_ the disappointment it was feeling. "On your mother's part, there are a number of muggle investments, some of which have done better than others, not to mention the upkeep payments for nearly a dozen properties scattered across the world. Again, the full details are present in your ledger." It finished.

Harry tried to wrap his head around it. His mother had invested in boltholes? That was…surprisingly less stupid than he'd believed his parents to be. But this was starting to take far too much time.

"Okay, so I'm sure we can look at the rest later on. Tell me, what do I have access to right now? I could do with some spending cash."

At this the banker and the lawyer exchanged knowing looks, before Talbot continued. "Of course, my lord. Let's see. You have your trust fund, standing at slightly more than six hundred thousand galleons, all of which you can claim right now. And… well, that's it, really. Your parents' vaults and the family account will be yours once you take up the title in full."

"Ah. When will that be, by the way?"

"Well, normally it would be when you turn seventeen. But given as you are the last of your family… well, you could claim it right now, were you to choose so."

"And if not now?"

"Well, you have until you turn fourteen. Once that happens, well, titles can't be claimed at even number ages, so you can do it at your fifteenth birthday. Five times three, you know."

"I understand. I think I'll do it next year, then."

"As you wish." The man said.

"Well, I'll study the ledgers, then. I have to be elsewhere now, but I'll be in touch."

"Of course, my lord."

"I'm sure you do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

With that out of the way, Harry stepped out of the building, and apparated. He reappeared at the apparition point in Diagon Alley, before apparating again. He reappeared… back in Legal Alley.

This time his target was a two-storey building a good distance down the street from T,S&B, once again a law firm. But the clientele served by Kendrick, Kane and Kelman was rather… different.

Stepping in, Harry took a moment to check his mannerisms. A change went over him, altering certain attributes in a number of subtle ways. Walking in, he faced the man sitting at the reception, asking to be taken to Charles Kendrick.

Of course, there were problems. If the people manning such places escorted everyone asking to their bosses, their jobs weren't likely to last long. But all of that went away pretty quickly once the Black ring was glimpsed.

Well…mostly.

"Mr. Kendrick? There's…er, Heir Black to see you?"

"Listen. You tell that worthless, spineless little ponce that he can whine to daddy all he likes, but it won't help him see a knut of the Black money!" the voice came roaring, at a volume that Harry was sure must have rattled the windows of half the buildings in the street. But that was secondary to the words themselves.

' _A worthless ponce, complaining to his father… why does that sound so familiar?'_ Harry thought to himself. It was a very shameful thing, that it took him a full half-second to realize the meaning, but when he did his grin could have blinded anyone looking at him.

Schooling his face back to the 'I'm sooo haughty' expression, he looked at the man who'd escorted him here and then flicked his head sideways in that dismissive gesture that only the very snobbiest of purebloods could ever manage.

Then he opened the door and entered.

"Excuse me? Didn't you hear…" the man was brown haired, and much taller than Talbot, from the way he loomed over his desk from where Harry was standing. He paused halfway through his sentence, looking at Harry.

"You're not Draco Malfoy." He said dumbly.

"I wasn't, the last time I checked." Harry responded.

"Oh." His eyes dipped to Harry's hand, and his face drained of color. "Oh! My lord, I'm so sorry for my outburst! I mean-" Harry silenced him with a held up hand. "Mr. Kendrick, trust me when I say that I can forgive anything of a man who has had to tolerate Draco Malfoy for any length of time. Or really, anyone who's had to look at his face."

The man smiled at this, before sighing heavily in relief. "Isn't that correct. But how would you… oh. _Oh."_ He finished in a wondrous tone, having finally seen the scar on Harry's forehead. But then his expression grew puzzled. "Mr. Potter? But how in the name of Merlin can that be?"

Now it was Harry's turn to be puzzled. "What, Mr. Kendrick?"

"Well, I mean, don't take me the wrong way, but I was under the impression that you couldn't inherit!"

"And why would that be?" Harry asked.

"Because, well, Mr. Potter, wasn't your mother… that is to say, aren't you a halfblood?" he eventually got out.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "And why would that matter?"

"Well, normally it wouldn't, since the Black Family never fell into abeyance. But Lord Black, before his death, invoked certain clauses in the family charter that should have limited the succession entirely to purebloods of the highest degree. I don't know if you're aware, but in Britain that's a pureblood 'time immemorial', which means-"

"Someone with a purely magical bloodline that can be traced back to before the Alignment. I know." He smiled a sardonic smile here. "And the real surprise is, mine can."

He enjoyed the way the man's eyes widened at that far too much more than he should have, Harry felt.

Kendrick regained his composure in a few seconds, and then seemed to be waiting for Harry to elaborate. When he didn't, he rolled his eyes slightly and spoke "Mr. Potter, you are aware that challenges will be issued against your claim? I need to have proof of what you're saying if I am to answer them."

"Oh, of course." Harry said sweetly, before tossing a tightly rolled up piece of parchment on the man's desk. It was a genealogy chart, drawn up by Harry himself back in the chamber and attested in the College. Kendrick studied it quickly, eyes darting all over to look for missing names or irregularities that would denote an impure lineage. Harry could see an eyebrow rise slightly, presumably when the man got to the Gaunt line, but apart from that there was no acknowledgement of anything out of the ordinary.

And indeed, frankly speaking, brother-sister incest was far from the strangest thing a man in Kendrick's position must have seen.

"Well, that seems entirely in order. So, my lord the Heir of Black, what can I do for you?"

"Let's start with the ledger and go from there, shall we?"

"But of course." Was all the man said, before handing over the book.

"And you can tell me what kind of cash I have on hand. I have some expenditure planned."

"Of course, Mr. Potter. Let's see… well, there's no trust vault, but you're entitled to one and it would be simplicity itself to get a standard one setup. Apart from that, there is the personal vault of Sirius Black, which was willed to you directly, and the personal vault of the late Lady Cassiopeia Black, which was willed to the heir to the Black title. You have unrestricted access to both these vaults, and between them, the total sum comes to just over eight hundred thousand galleons."

Harry nodded. It was about as he'd expected. "Any payments made into them?"

"Ah, yes. There is one. Cassiopeia Black's vault receives an annual forty thousand galleons from the main Black vault. Sirius Black's vault, of course, is the vault willed to him by Alphard Black, and comes with no such payments."

"What about Sirius's trust vault?"

"It was closed down back in 1975, back when he bolted."

"Regulus Black's vault?"

"Reabsorbed into the main vault at his death, given as he died intestate."

"I see. Well, start the proceedings on getting me a trust of my own, and do you have the keys to the two vaults?"

"Of course. Here you are." He said, before handing over two golden keys. Harry pocketed them, and started to rise.

"Wait, Mr. Potter. There are several issues we need to discuss, now that you're to take over the family."

"I realize that, Mr. Kendrick. I intend to familiarize myself with the ledger first, and then we can talk."

The man apparently realized the wisdom in this, and nodded serenely "I believe that would be best, come to think of it. Very well, Mr. Potter. I look forward to hearing from you."

"As do I." Harry finished, before walking out.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **27** **th** **July, 1994  
Gringotts**

Harry walked quickly, covering the distance betweenthe door and the tellers in moments. Once there, he promptly placed his hand on the counter right where the goblin couldn't ignore it if it wanted to. "I want to see Silverclaw."

The creature looked at his hand, focusing at the ring. It stared at it closely, as if looking for faults in it. After a few seconds, it got off its stool, and said "Follow me, human."

Harry did. The goblin led him through a side door, down a winding corridor until they came to an ornate door. There it knocked "Heir of Potter to see you, Silverclaw." It barked out, before gesturing to Harry that he should go in.

Walking in, Harry saw the goblin poring through thick file, making notations here and there. It looked up once Harry sat down, fixing him with an inquiring gaze.

"I'm here to claim a number of vaults." Harry said by way of explanation.

"Are you now, Mr. Potter? Which ones would that be?" the goblin asked harshly by way of response. His tone practically _dripped_ skepticism and snootiness.

Harry allowed himself a smirk. He was going to enjoy this. "Oh, nothing too ostentatious. Just the Peverell, Gryffindor and Slytherin vaults and accounts."

The goblin goggled at him. "C…come again, Mr. Potter?"

"Now that is entirely too forward, Silverclaw. Not before a dinner date."

"Very funny, human. But are you serious about this?" the creature was practically salivating at Harry's words, and it wasn't hard to guess why. Being manager to the Potter account secured his place among the highest echelons of the Goblin nation. Earning the commissions attached to three of the Greater Five, not to mention access to the name and the prestige, would catapult him, and by extension the Silver clan, right to the pinnacle of it, putting the creature personally on a standing second only to Ragnar of Gringott.

"Indeed I am, Goblin." Harry responded, before carelessly tossing his heritage certificate onto the desk, and following it up with morphing out the relevant rings and displaying them to it.

Silverclaw all but jumped in joy, before stepping quickly off its seat. "Come. I will escort you personally to the vaults, and we will see if you're accepted."

Harry followed along on a sedate pace, only raising an eyebrow slightly in puzzlement when instead of taking him to the cart area the goblin instead took him to a little room off the main corridor. There it stepped on a slightly raised dais, gesturing to him to do the same. Harry did, and was treated to the oh-so-familiar sensation of an anchored portkey.

Stepping off, Harry found himself in a huge cavern, the receiving dais positioned high on the wall. Descending from the dais was a staircase of the whitest marble Harry had ever seen, leading into a vast pit. Looking into it, Harry raised an eyebrow. There were in the pit, tethered to the walls with thick iron chains like dogs, no less than thirteen immense, fierce dragons, currently engaged in ripping apart quantities of flesh that would be too little for half of them, and barely classified as a starvation diet as it was. But that was the point, he supposed.

But the most important thing could be seen on the other side of the cavern, in the form of an immense door decorated elaborately with gold and red. It was set deep and high in the wall, led up to by another marble staircase to match the one in front of Harry. It was surrounded by seven griffin statues each on both sides, all of which looked; and more likely than not were; capable of ripping apart a tank with their bare claws.

He looked at the goblin, sending an inquisitive glance at it. "You need to lead the way, your lordship. If the magic of the vault acknowledges you, then there will be no danger whatsoever."

"Understood" Harry said sharply. He walked slowly down the staircase, cursing insane wizards with every breath.

He reached the bottom of the stairs in seconds, and before stepping into the pit, sent one last look over at the Goblin. It was leaning over the railing of the dais, looking intently at Harry. When it met his eyes it urged him angrily to continue. Shaking his head, Harry did.

He had to admit, he came very near to panicking when the first dragon hurled itself at him. He didn't _quite_ flinch, but there were a dozen spells at the tip of his tongue, ready to send the lizard careening back. Thankfully, the situation never rose. just as the Dragon's claw would have impaled him, it seemed to have hit a wall, simply stopping a meter or so from Harry.

Looking at the dragon, Harry could see that it wasn't its doing. Indeed, the creature seemed puzzled itself. But then a burning sensation brought Harry's attention to his hand, where the ruby inset in his ring was glowing bright. Looking at it, Harry could see the lion's head carved into it growling and roaring, albeit completely soundlessly.

Or, Harry corrected, soundlessly to _him_. Looking around, the dragons were all falling back, retreating from him in a hurry. He walked ahead boldly with his head held high, and with every step it seemed the dragons' heads bent just a bit more. It was when he was just over halfway through the pit that Harry noticed the magic. All of a sudden it was upon his senses, the feeling of _old_ , ancient magic, sunken into the very bones of these dragons, binding them utterly and absolutely to the will of the Gryffindor of Gryffindors.

Once he acknowledged that, the last hints of hesitation evaporated from Harry. He walked briskly and efficiently, reaching the staircase in seconds. As he took the first step, he took the time to turn back and look. Every dragon in the pit was by flat to the ground now, bowed as deeply as their bodies would allow. Looking ahead, he could see the stone Griffins doing the same, the magic that comprised them acknowledging just who and what he was.

Walking until he reached the door, Harry was suddenly, instinctively aware of what to do. He ran his fingers along the door, tracing out patterns invisible to the eye but seared into his veins. And the result showed, when without much further ado, the door melted away into nothing, and the Gryffindor vault was exposed for the first time in centuries.

And as Harry looked in, for the first several seconds he just froze. His training at Salazar's hands, and his natural… _panache_ was such that few things could stagger him, money being the least of them all. And yet, and yet the sight in the vault was something else. It was a vast cave, like something out of _The Arabian Nights_. Dominating his view first and foremost was the sight at the very end, which was a solid, practically fused mass of pure _gold._ It was nothing less than a mountain, rising from the floor to the ceiling and simply… _lying_ there like so much dirt. Apart from it there were entire hills of priceless diamonds and gemstones, huge statues carrying plates full of the most exquisite jewelry, shelves in the walls carrying elaborate boxes holding what were beyond doubt utterly priceless jewels… and a few meters in, a small, discreet door leading to a side room.

Tearing his gaze away from the wealth, Harry made his way there. Stepping in, he confirmed his suspicions that it did hold what he expected it to. It was a small room, with a desk in the middle, placed on which were three big, bound books.

Taking a second or so to look them over, Harry slipped the books into his pocket. He looked back, his gaze lingering at the many, many 'bottled' properties on the shelves. He almost went back to pick one of them up, but then he remembered his position. As Heir, he had access to nearly everything. But that was the wording. 'Access to', not 'control over'

He could look at it, study it, and try his best to understand it. But he couldn't _use_ it. It would be futile to try taking anything other than the books out of this vault right now.

Walking out, he made his way quickly back to the dais, ignoring the Dragons and the Griffins.

The whole process, accessing all three of his vaults and getting the 'oh so important' books from them, ended up taking a good then minutes. The Slytherin vault was protected with lairs upon layers of illusions, not to mention mind magic of any kind one cared to name. Curses of dementia trying to scare people away, great, beautiful sights trying to tempt them away from the vault into elaborately concealed traps… it was everything a Slytherin heir would have to be an expert on, being able to avoid the traps and turn them on themselves wherever possible.

And the Peverell vault was the worst of them all. Great hulking golems of bone, skeletons of huge animals guarding the vault, delicately set death curses triggered with every wrong step… if Harry had been one bit less capable or talented, there was no telling just what would've happened.

Still, it was all over now, and now, Harry thought, there really was no limit to how far he could go.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by the goblin's voice. "Well, your lordship, let me be the first to congratulate you on your fortune. With this, you've certainly become one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Britain."

Harry smiled slightly. Goblins were fiendishly clever, but the poor guys had never really figured out how to suck up properly. It made what he was going to do next all the more fun.

"So, Silverclaw."

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"Well, can you give me a reason now, as to why I shouldn't get a meeting with Ragnar and appoint separate managers for my new accounts?"

And that brought the wind right out of the Goblin's sails. Harry almost laughed openly. He knew that the moment his inheritance had been confirmed, the goblin had already begun to draft plans to leverage its new commissions and prestige to acquire as much influence and power as possible. And Harry knew it well, the increase would be _vast_. As things now were, the Potter account was Silverclaw's most important. And certainly, managing an account that reached well into the multiple billions was a very prestigious position. Added to it the half a dozen or so minor account under its supervision, meant that its position as one of the high-fliers in goblin society was mostly secure.

What had just happened, though… well, let's just say that it would make the Silver clan one of the unquestioned top dogs in the nation. And that was worth…quite a lot.

The goblin leaned back in its seat, blew out a sigh, and looked at Harry in an entirely new light.

Harry took the time to continue. What he was going to do now was rather foolhardy, but held the potential to pay off well. "Listen, Silverclaw. You know how things can go now. We can argue back and forth endlessly, and haggle till our throats are sore, or we can settle this in a relatively intelligent manner."

He looked at the goblin again, to find a look of cautious encouragement.

"You want the benefits you can get from this. That's fine. I don't have any problems with it. Thing is, it's going to cost you."

"Oh?" was the elaborate response.

"Come on now, you know how this works. I sign the contracts, and in exchange, you agree to use your newfound clout to sort out a few matters here and there for me, as and when they rise. After all, you're going to be getting a major rise in both wealth and clout, yes?"

"That…is correct."

"So how about it? You get your seat on the High Council, and in exchange, you use your newfound influence to further my interests along here and there."

Harry seriously wished never to see a goblin grin again, when he saw Silverclaw doing it. "I believe we have a deal, human. Of course, any official affairs will have to wait till you formally take the vaults over, but yes. I am willing to exercise efforts in the goblin realm on your behalf for the benefits this will give me."

"See, was that so hard?" Harry responded, before rising from his chair. "And now I must be off. Lots to do, y'know."

"Of course, your lordship" the goblin responded with a brief tilt of its head.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry looked over the piled packages one last time, comparing the items to the list he had in his mind. Over the last several days he and Salazar had figured out a number of magical talents that he needed to check if he had, and all of those required elaborate testing rituals that he'd needed to gather the ingredients for.

And now that he was _finally_ done with his shopping, the last thing he wanted was to have to go back and pick up something he missed. He'd gathered the ingredients, picked up a full wardrobe of robes, shirts trousers, shoes, gloves, cloaks, those fiddly scarf things and other things that comprised a wardrobe, updated his library with about fifty new books, bought a new trunk, and basically everything else he was likely to need in the coming days.

And now he needed to get his last chore of the day done and over with.

With a barely noticeable 'pop', Harry disapparated.

He reappeared in a decrepit, ancient shack, barely standing. Walking quickly through the door to the next room, he snapped his fingers. Immediately, a box rose from the ground, smashing the floorboards in the way. It rose through the air, coming to rest about a foot in front of Harry. With a thought, he opened it and let it go, turning his attention to the ring now levitating midair. With a momentary exertion of magic he dispelled the curse on the ring, and with another created a copy, before replicating the curse on the copy with yet another twitch of a finger.

Then he put on the ring and disapparated.

He reappeared in the village of Little Hangleton. There, he looked around until he saw a man coming towards him. Walking ahead, Harry petrified the man, before turning him into a small toy and stuffing him into his pocket.

That done, Harry disapparated again.

This time when he reappeared, the process was slightly more complicated. You see, the destination had spells to prevent apparition to it, not to mention portkeys. But happily those spells all registered him as Voldemort himself, given as he'd absorbed the man's soul, and so he was exempt. Pulling out the toy and turning it back into a man, Harry dispelled the petrification. The man screamed to high heaven in his fright, but only for a moment. After that Harry sliced off his tongue with a _Diffindo_. Picking up the tongue from where it fell, Harry rubbed it on the wall a bit, until the archway appeared.

Then he petrified the man again. Walking in, Harry quickly summoned the boat and crossed the lake, before removing the petrification yet again. Again, the man attempted to scream and again, he fell silent. Although, this time was due to the _Imperio_ Harry placed on him.

From then on it was simple. Harry compelled the man to drink all of the potion, a task the man performed admirably. Then Harry grabbed the locket and strode back to the boat.

It was all rather well-executed, really. Harry thought as he was walking out of the cavern. Dispelling the Imperius, Harry watched, bemused, as the man rushed to the lake and drank thirstily. He continued to watch as the inferi rose and dragged the man under the lake. It was soothing.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

 **And that ends that. Nice, eh? So, we've covered up to chapter 6, excluding the interlude, with 30% more quality! Hopefully, atleast. Tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chamber of Secrets  
2** **nd** **August, 1994**

The air above the circle was filled with the smell of burning flesh, as whips of light extended from the candles placed at the points of the pentacle, biting deep into the body lying at its center. They reared back and struck, again and again, and every time they retreated they carried on their tips a strange, paste-like substance, foul and black. It continued, again and again for slightly longer than a full hour.

The process ended when the whips could find no more on the sludge on the boy, no, young man. He sat up then, groaning slightly in all the pain, before the wounds started to heal, seeming of their own accord.

"Well?"

"That was the last of the seals. All your abilities are free now, like they were never blocked."

" _Good._ Can we do the tests now, then?"

"Yes. Assuming, that is, that you finished the last of the preparations last night?"

"I forgot them _once!_ D'you have to keep going on about it?"

"Well… you need to ask?"

"Ha ha. Very funny. Tell us another one."

"And that will be quite enough cheek from you. Get on with it."

"Right." Harry snapped off, before turning his focus to his work. He seethed slightly as the potion fumes aggravated his burns, before carrying on. As tedious and painful as this all was, it was rather necessary. It was funny, how people imagined in their novels that they could bleed a drop of blood on a parchment and have everything about them revealed instantaneously. But the fact was, the process for determining exactly which talents and abilities one had was a long, boring and torturous one.

Oh, and massively, horrifically illegal. Can't forget that. While actively banning any art of magic was fundamentally impossible in Magical Britain, the protection did not extend to specific rituals and practices, which meant that even the harmless rituals were frowned upon. Ones like this… well, let's just say they weren't appreciated.

There was good reason, of course, after the three hundredth child died because his parents were trying to get him to manifest _some_ sort of special talent, but that didn't help people like Harry any.

And all that was _before_ people went about placing locks on his talent. Harry wasn't raging right now, mainly because he wasn't allowing himself to, but Albus Dumbledore would _pay_ for what he'd made Harry do to free himself. The man had placed bloody motherfucking _talent seals_ on a _fifteen months old baby_.

It had taken seven hundred and seventy seven whips from the candles of purification to rip away the last remnants of the seals, _after_ Harry had shattered them That Night near the lake. And each of them had hurt like _fucking whips tend to._

So…yeah. Harry would make the twinkly eyed bastard's eyes twinkle _really_ well. Oh yeah. A flaming torch through the socket would do that, wouldn't it?

In any case, it was time to get on with the tests. Harry needed to determine whatever talents and abilities he had, and he needed to start with developing them, to embark on the long and painful process towards becoming a proper mage.

It was strange thing, Harry mused somewhat idly, even as he painted symbol after symbol on his body. The process didn't _quite_ need his attention, given as he'd practiced it repeatedly. As little as a month ago, he'd had no idea at all of the sheer _size_ of the world around him, having been quiet and content in his overwhelming mediocrity.

But now… he didn't think he could ever go back. The Empires of the East, the great bloodlines that had dominated the planet since before recorded history began, the wealth, power and _magic_ he stood as heir to… and the enemies.

 _Oh yes_. There was a reason why Harry refused to take up his lordships right now, a very good one, if he said so himself. He was confident in his skills and abilities, perhaps a tad too much so, but even he was aware that the world would chew him up and spit him out if he made a move _that_ stupid.

You see, there were many, _many_ things that contributed to power and status in magical society, both for individuals or a family or an organization. There was money, of course, and governmental positions and influence and lands, but all those things were utterly trivial compared to the most valuable, utterly priceless asset of them all.

Which was, to make a long story short, _power_. Raw, naked power, the ability to reshape the world around one to one's whims.

For that _was_ what they all did, was it not? A wizard, a mage, could be a worthless, weak worm the likes of Peter Pettigrew or Ronald Weasley, or they could be gods in mortal flesh.

That was the reason why even after everything he'd done, people like Ollivander spoke of Voldemort as 'terrible, yes, but great'. Power defined everything. It was the reason Albus Dumbledore, a half-mad disrespectful old codger stood tall and unchallenged as a world leader, and why bumbling , mewling toads like Fudge and Umbridge would never be respected no matter how many medals and titles they granted each other.

Power made the world go round, and as much Harry wanted to rail against the injustice of it all, he had to admit that he had very, very little of it. After all, he was just a teenaged untried young heir, famous though he might be.

As a matter of fact, that fame was more of a double edged sword than anything useful, really. The riffraff of the world, the street people all knew him as the 'Boy Who Lived', but the serious movers and shakers all understood that it all meant a sum total of Jack Shit.

Which brought it all back to the here and now. Harry needed this. He needed to know and understand what fields of magic he had talent for, and to train his talents and abilities. That was the only way he would ever be able to stand as equals with the people he was supposed to.

Once the last of the symbols was painted, Harry gave everything one last once-over. The runes and sigils drawn in a myriad of languages, the small hills of incense burning around him, the artifacts floating in the air close to him…it took a full three minutes to check it all, and then he was ready.

The magic activated. His world was subsumed in _pain_.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"This doesn't make _sense!"_

"Tch. I would have though you would _like_ it!" Slytherin commented from his portrait.

"Come on now, I'm not stupid. I'd like to think that I'm really, really special and actually bear all these powers, but I'm _not!"_

"And that, you see is precisely the problem."

"But-"

"I dare say, that is quite _enough_. I don't care that you're willing to bear the pain and the effort a fourth time. But you forget, as much pain as you suffer, I suffer equal amounts of tedium and annoyance. And I am not going to waste any more time on this!"

"Okay, but-"

"No, Harry Potter. You acknowledge me as the master and yourself as the apprentice, yes?"

"Yes." Harry answered in a resigned tone.

"Then I command this. Cease your attempts at denying your powers. You have been gifted above all others. You possess powers and abilities others would kill for. You _will_ not deny yourself them!"

"Yes, Lord Slytherin." Harry responded formally.

The painting's tone softened. "You know what I say is correct, apprentice. I watched the steps as you performed them. You were flawless. There is no mistake. You _are_ a true Grand Magus. Or rather, you have the potential to be one. All that stands in your way is the filth those muggles filled in your head about being 'normal'." He spoke the last word as one would a curse, his whole face twisting in an ugly scowl during the enunciation.

"Now, rise from your please, clear away the remnants of the ritual, and clean yourself and rest. Tomorrow you finish the last of your objectives in the outside world. And then, we train."

Harry nodded, smiling a bit at this, taking Salazar's words to heart. "Got it."

The next day saw him up early, heading to the ministry as early 10'O clock. After all, he had an appointment, and he wasn't in a mood to miss it. It had been problematic enough _getting_ it, so much so that he'd had to use his own name for it, and rescheduling would be _hell_.

It was understandable, though. A Quidditch world cup was a big deal, after all. It was well enough that the department Harry had in mind was one of the most removed from the bustle, which was the only reason he actually expected to get anything done today, really.

It was after several minutes of patiently navigating the Ministry's corridors that he finally got to his target. The Office of Examinations, Dept. of Educational Affairs.

Once there, though, things were simple and quick enough. It took filling out about seven different forms, (and about a thousand galleons in bribes to get them), but it was nothing too complicated.

Of course, that had a lot to do with the aforementioned gold, but still, sitting your exams early was hardly a controversial topic, even in the Ministry. Indeed, Harry had to pay what he paid solely because the arrangements he wanted were truly extraordinary.

Normally, there was no fee associated with OWLs or NEWTs. The ministry footed the bill, along with Hogwarts itself. And even in cases like this, when one was sitting the exams early, it was possible to arrange something with Hogwarts. But informing Hogwarts meant informing Dumbledore, and that was a complication entirely too great for Harry right now.

But that was not the reason he'd paid so much. That cost, in the end, only came up to about fifty galleons a subject. He'd paid a thousand galleons because he wanted to sit all of the exams _on the same day_.

Naturally, that was impossible. There simply wasn't enough time in the day.

Unless, that is, one bought permission to use a dictation quill.

Once the last of the paperwork was over with, Harry was escorted to a side office. It was a small thing, dusty and grubby, but more than sufficient for his purposes, he supposed. The witch who'd come with him flicked her wand once, and all of the dust vanished, after which Harry took his seat.

Five minutes later he was starting to get annoyed, when the door opened. A wizened old wizard entered, quickly trotting up to a chair before settling in it with relish.

Once settled, he looked at Harry. "Hello, Mr. Potter. My name is Gerald Tofty, and I shall be conducting your exams today."

Harry just smiled slightly and nodded, before turning his focus on the sheet that had appeared all of a sudden.

From there it was a simple matter of reading the questions and answering, but Harry sank himself into it, speaking out his answers clearly and concisely but at rapid-fire speeds, often blazing ahead by entire paragraphs. The quill had a memory, of course, so not a word was lost.

Even with all his speed, it ended up taking him a full four hours to power through all of the theory papers, and _then_ he could go for the practical ones.

In the end, it was nearing evening when he left the ministry, having been assured of as speedy a checking of his papers as possible, but more importantly, having ticked off another item in his all-important 'to do' list.

With these exams in place, that was a definite tick on his 'independence and self-reliance' column. A lord of Great Houses could be regarded as a child, and a fully educated person could still be regarded a child, but _both?_ That would be a step too far, even for people with the kind of influence Harry's enemies-to-come commanded.

But of course, securing his place as an adult was just one of the benefits. Really, there were a whole lot of them. One of the most important, indeed, would be that it just got them out of the way. Now he had four years until the next set of exams he needed to take seriously came about.

Well, that would be the conventional thing. He didn't really have any plans to wait that long to get the fucking things out of the way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 **10** **th** **of August, 1994  
Chamber of Secrets**

"What does this mean, then, Lord Slytherin? You say that it's impossible that he could return without us finding out, but then this is, what, drunken shenanigans?"

"It has to be, child. There are spells upon the soul and mind of the one you call Voldemort, spells that make it impossible for him to escape my reach. Being a painting, I cannot make the needed checks to give you his exact location, but you will be able to, once I can tell you how?"

"And you're sure you can't tell me now?"

"Yes, apprentice. Parselmagic on that level will taint your core. It will block off many, many potential options from your perusal, just as I've told you a dozen times before."

"I know, I know." Harry just muttered. Sometimes he found his unlimited potential to be more of a bother than a boon. People who had special talents in only one field were able to focus all of their attention on it, developing great and varied skills in a matter of days and weeks. He, on the other hand, had to make sure balance was preserved. Due to his raw potential being so much greater than all others, it would be tantamount to squandering it if he spent it all in one place.

Right now he'd just finished the last bits of his Parselmagic studies, to the point that he was now a decently rounded beginner. Now he'd need to bring up all of the other skills he had access to up to the same level, before he could continue without compromising the variety of options available to him.

It was, in ways, as tedious and bothersome as it was exciting and fun, and all in all it was only the knowledge from Voldemort's memories, and the strict continuity that it provided to his studies, that kept him from going crazy thanks to it all.

Not that there wasn't plenty in those memories to go crazy due to _anyway_ , but still, it was a layer of insulation. As wide and varied the knowledge Voldemort had, it was a drop in a bucket compared to everything Harry was told he had to master to survive in the new world he was part of now.

Which had just gotten yet more complicated, if the paper was to be believed. Death Eaters had been seen at the Quidditch World Cup, complete with the Dark Mark. By all accounts, they'd been setting fire to tents and levitating muggles here and there, all in all painting a rather disturbing picture that Harry had been sure pointed to Voldemort's return.

But Slytherin said that he'd managed to place several spalls and markers on Voldemort (not easy, mind you. The remote-casting wands were _awfully_ finicky. Harry personally thought it could be due to the soul of the muggleborn sacrificed to make it struggling against the magic being cast.)

Voldemort's disincorporation at Harry's hands had sent a backlash that had blown up the vast majority of the devices, but enough remained functioning that he could say with surety that the guy didn't yet have a body.

That was nice, but it left Harry in the unenviable position of being terribly worried and having no explanation about the worries.

"There's nothing for it. I'm going to have to go out." He said to himself. The steel in his voice was impressive, but not as much as it'd been when he'd said the same thing for the first time, an hour ago. Slytherin had been dissuading him from that course of action for all that time, and he'd not been entirely unsuccessful.

Harry looked at the portrait, but he just looked back, staring him in the eyes, face an unreadable mask.

Harry didn't need to hear it from him to know that the man disapproved, but that was something he was willing to accept. What he wasn't willing to accept was being ignorant to what was going on. And it wasn't like he was putting himself at any great risk! He had a target. A perfectly safe, harmless target, called Ludovic Bagman.

Of course, he wouldn't be heading out right that second, but it was now a thing that had to be done. Harry remembered the location of the Bagman family home, Rookwood had turned it over as a suggestion for recruitment just days before Voldemort blew himself up with Harry.

He'd make a check late that day or the next day, invest a few hours of Legilimency to get a proper picture of things. As it was, he needed to start with the next branch of Old Magic that he intended to study.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 **The evening**

Harry leaned back into his chair. Across the desk, Bagman's head lolled, the mind having been completely drained of all relevant information. Harry removed the memories of the whole encounter; barely ten minutes; from the man's mind, and made his way away from the house as quickly as feet would allow. As weak as the protections on that place were, it was still a really bad idea to spend unduly large amounts of time within their influence.

Once back in the chamber, Harry seated himself in one of the more comfortable couches, summoned up some hot chocolate, and just let himself _think_. He opened himself up to the data he'd just gleaned, and let the implications manifest. There had been no one caught for casting the curse, and neither were there any leads. On the issue of the death eaters, too, if Bones knew something then she hadn't shared it in the Cabinet Meeting.

Of course, all of that, death eaters and dark mark both, paled in comparison to the _real_ treasure trove of information. Specifically, the Triwizard Tournament. Harry had pondered the matter, and had, in the end, decided once and for all to compete. It was a platform from where to act, to establish real, hard achievement to his name so that he could go past the 'lucky fluke' even in the discerning eyes. It was too late by August for Harry to take part in the summer dueling tournaments, but this was a vastly superior option.

Of course, there was the 'eighteen years' only rule, but Harry wasn't worried overmuch. Rules had a habit of ceasing to matter if sufficiently resourceful and determined men wanted them to, and Harry was both.

Still, now that he was updated on the details of the affair at the cup, he needed to focus all his time and energies into getting the best training and education the resources of the chambers would allow. That meant once more spending days upon days of books, practice and Salazar… but it was still better than the Dursleys.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Right, so that's as far as we've gotten.

Now to remind you, updates for this story will be slow. All of y focus is going to be on my Jumpchain story, with this one and Overlord getting worked on only when time and opportunity permit.

And now REVIEW! Tell me how you like the changes from the original! Tell me if you hate it and think I suck. Tell me _everything._


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